Harry Potter and the Vanguard of Dawn
by SGTwhiskeyjack
Summary: Post DH AU. In a world where the Battle of Hogwarts was not won, but lost, the survivors must re-group and wage a new breed of war. Resistance is scattered across the countryside, and Harry Potter, their leader, is isolated, possibly unstable. Does any hope remain for our heroes? Can the Golden Trio go on when reduced down to 2? And what will be the cost of getting her back...
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Welcome, dear reader, to my latest project. An all-new world of love, laughter, and above all, hardship. The story is, as the description states, post DH AU, set in a world where Voldemort emerged triumphant from the Battle of Hogwarts. As for the rest, I shall let you figure that yourselves..._

* * *

Forty-seven. There were forty-seven individual cracks spiderwebbing across the low, dingy ceiling of the hovel that Harry Potter was now calling his home. He had counted them all, as they lay directly above the bed in which he pretended to sleep each night. He had counted them because they sat above the seat in which he wasted away the majority of his waking hours, and because they were directly overhead of the firepit in which he cooked meagre, scavenged meals for two.

He reached a grime-coated arm across the entire breadth of the room, jabbing his companion sharply in the ribs. The sun was rising, there were reports to receive.

''M up,' Ron Weasley groaned without moving.

The way his friend lay on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling made Harry wonder if he had slept either. Perhaps he, too, was aware of the mocking forty-seven. On today of all days, Harry didn't see how he couldn't be.

The vanguard of dawn cast a dappled, hazy light through the torn sheet hung over the only window. Both inhabitants of the room tucked knees to chest, non-verbally transfiguring meagre bedding into rigid chairs. A gentle breeze stirred a few motes from the dirt floor.

A whiplash _crack_ chased away any remnant weariness as three figures split the air before the two. The newcomers, shoulders hunched and necks bowed, met the eyes of the residents. Seconds stretched between them. Harry sat as straight as he could. He twitched the corners of his mouth into what he hoped passed as a smile.

'Sit.' He gestured, and three seats coalesced. The five occupants of the room now sat knee-to-knee. Breath misted in the cold air, their curling tendrils met and mingled; the only thing passed between them for long moments.

'We've found one,' Neville Longbottom finally stated into the silence.

Both Harry and Ron perked up at that. Two pairs of eyes darted triumphantly around the room, found reassuring gazes in return.

'I didn't think there were any left in Britain. A Burrower? How did you coax them into such an overt show of support?'

The three shared a glance that was clearly private. A hook twisted in Harry's stomach.

'You see chap, it's not _exactly_ a Burrower…' began Ernie MacMillan.

'And I wouldn't call their sentiment _supportive_ ,' Neville finished.

Ron shot a confused look at Harry, who was glaring, deadpan.

'No.'

'Harry please, it's our only option.' The third of three spoke. The only female gathered, Susan Bones looked even more gaunt than on her last visit, a week ago; they all did. Sunken, hollow cheeks, sallow skin, clothes than hung limp on their frames. Susan bore a ropy, rugged scar around her neck like a piece of goblin-wrought jewellery.

War wasn't easy on anyone.

'What did you do, press-gang him? Imperius him? Then we're no better than He is. You-'

'Did what we needed to,' Neville cut in, his voice a low growl. 'And it's a she, not a he-'

'Even worse!'

'Is it?' Susan asked, quietly. Her scar glistened softly in the morning light.

'Regardless,' Ernie interjected, 'we _need_ you out of here. We've a Resistance to run, factions to coalesce, Burrowers to root out and Realign. Harry, there's a nation to lead to war. _We_ can't do it, and you can't do it from in here.'

 _Forty-seven days._

'You can't find _her-'_

A low, menacing growl emanated from Ron's throat. Neville held up his hands defensively. 'We have leads Harry, witnesses. You know we haven't been idle, none of the true Faithful have. The DA remembers, Harry. Most of us- _some_ of us are still here, waiting to follow you again.'

'It isn't the DA,' Harry snarled, 'not any more. This isn't what the DA was formed for. You – _all_ of you – have done so much more than I…' he trailed off, lost for words. Angry tears stung the corners of his eyes.

'We'll find a new name,' Susan said soothingly, laying a hand on Harry's knee. 'Whatever we are, we are _yours_ Harry. You died for us, or tried to. Through all the hellfire that came after, and through everything still to come, we're yours. 'Till the end.'

'That's what I'm afraid of.'

'Two days,' Neville pushed on. 'We'll be here in two days at sundown. It'll take that long to get a working Fidelius Charm out of her. We'll extract you straight to the location, Seal the Charm, and start bringing this war right back to Him.'

'The Order, the DA-'

'Will all be there, waiting for you Harry. We've been waiting for this day for as long as you have-'

'Forty-seven days.'

'That long?'

Harry and Ron shared a solemn nod. A look of understanding passed between the three guests.

'We'll find her. We-'

'Aren't doing enough,' Ron snapped.

Harry laid a placating arm on his friend's shoulder. Ron bristled, but backed down. Neville looked hurt.

'We know,' Harry assured them. 'Any other news?'

All five stood up, Ron and Neville especially hunched over beneath the low ceiling. The three hesitated barely a moment.

'Who-'

'Alicia Spinnett. Though it was hard to tell. Looked like Fiendfyre, and the Burrowers got to her first, took her wand, clothes, anything useful. Luna's doing what she can, but you know how Fiendfyre is… burns through to the soul. We might never know for sure.'

He could feel it building, the pressure from all sides. He squeezed his eyes shut. The lights came first. Greens and reds and yellows, and then more greens. Always greens. A rushing filled his ears, like a train. But where the Hogwarts Express brought the promise of new adventure, this brought only agony, and when the whistle sounded it was the voice of terror. It was a scream, female, now laughter. A face; honeyed skin and dark, tilted eyes. Raven hair and a ready smile. _Alicia._

Doubled over, Harry knew nothing of his own screams, echoing mockingly around the tiny room. Honey skin now streaked grey, silvery burns marring an entire side of her face like a mocking premonition. The laughter gone from those tilted eyes, one now glazed and milky. A half-mocking salute in a crumbling corridor, a hopeless stand somehow survived. The three before him had spoken almost in awe of what the Chasers had salvaged that day from the Fall.

The touch on his wrist jerked him free of the cloying reverie. Blinking in the faded light, earnest faces surrounded him. This wasn't right, where was the screaming, the dying? Being forced to watch as dozens of his friends and loved ones fell in vain. The faces before him crowded his vision. This wasn't right, he tried to push them back. He hadn't paid his penance. His suffering wasn't complete. This was his failing, _his_ alone, he needed to pay-

'Harry,' two firm hands gripped his shoulders. One forearm was ribboned with criss-crossed burn scars, poorly disguised beneath an ill-fitting robe. In spite of this, in spite of the malnutrition, the abuse her body had endured, Susan's eyes remained warm. In them, Harry felt the pain slipping away, his heart rate returning to normal. Beside him, Ron put his own wand away, as if these were demons that could be brought to heel by physical strength alone.

'We're not just pretty faces,' Ernie grinned wryly, patting the breast of his robe. There beneath a poorly-embroidered silver "DA" was a charred, faded Hufflepuff house emblem.

Either one was enough to get him killed on sight. Harry couldn't help himself, a smile crept forth, this time genuine.

'Two days at sundown,' Neville nodded.

'Stay strong Harry,' Susan whispered.

'There's a Butterbeer waiting for you,' assured Ernie.

Three _cracks_ and they were gone.

'Huh,' Ron grunted. 'They broke the window.'

Harry looked over to the tattered sheet, drifting down lazily towards the bare earth floor. Where it had hung was simply bare, featureless rock. The only light in their dank cave now emanated from Ron's wand. They'd have to re-cast the dozen or so charms on that sheet to force it to mirror the daylight some fifty feet above them. Charms which they'd practiced and practiced, but could replicate only poorly. Charms which had been taught to them what seemed like a lifetime ago, on a different planet, a different life-or-death flight, where the stakes hadn't yet been understood, the accountability not yet realised. Charms that _she_ had taught them…

Ron was holding the sheet up against the rock, seeking Harry's approval as to its position, but Harry's head had tilted back against the cold, stone wall, his eyes focused on the low, oppressive ceiling. Forty seven individual cracks, each one an expression of the immense pressures on the rock above their head, each one accommodating a tiny bit of the strain. How many more cracks could form before it all gave way? How much could the rock take before it all came down in one giant cascade, one blissful, final release?

Forty-seven individual cracks in the roof. When Ron finally hung the sheet, the magical daylight would indicate the forty-seventh day since the Fall of Hogwarts. The forty-seventh day since the beginning of the reign of Lord Voldemort. The forty seventh day since He took Hermione Granger.


	2. Chapter 2

_Dust hung heavy in the air, stinging eyes and throats alike. Harry scrubbed furiously at his glasses, achieved nothing more than smearing a grimy pink stain across the lens. His shirt was soaked through with blood. Some of it his own._

' _Scourgify,' Hermione whispered. Harry flashed her a tired smile._

 _A half-hour in and already it felt like they had been fighting for a lifetime. Muscles were weary, breath was short. Blood coated everything. Harry had never seen so much._

 _Behind them furled lazy tendrils from the smoking ruins of the Wooden Bridge. Neville had barely made the leap before it had gone up in a rush of flame. Voldemort's attack on the defences had taken them all by surprise; they hadn't been ready. Seamus had been the one to set off the explosion. He'd still been down there, Charming charges into the supports, when he had seen the attack._

 _A friend as long as Harry had known him, a fierce spirit, and a brave Gryffindor. Gone, in exchange for a single courtyard. Harry felt the weight of that price settle upon his shoulders. Instinctively, Ron was there beside him. Silent, standing tall, offering the comfort of his presence. His proud figure made him seem indomitable. Harry would need him to be. One of them needed to be._

 _Footsteps cut through the clamour, approaching the Trio. All three levelled wands, found even footing. Harry crouched low behind a slab of masonry, Hermione guarded the exit to their left. Ron took point._

 _Lavender Brown tore through the entranceway, kicking up a cloud of dust at her feet. Justin Finch-Fletchley was hot on her heels. Two eyes met three, surprised expressions on the newcomers' faces. Wands were lowered for a heartbeat-_

 _Before an explosion at Justin's feet sent his body sprawling, and a hulking grey mass burst forth from the smoke, crashing into Lavender in a bone-shattering collision. Blood fanned, and a feeble moan was cut short as lambent eyes fixed on the three._

' _Greyback,' hissed Ron. '_ Run _!'_

The cool night air on Harry's face was almost enough to draw forth his first real smile in over forty-nine days. Almost. He wore the buttons on his filth-stained shirt loose, felt the first breeze on his skin for the first time in over a month.

They had left the cave at sundown, Apparated to a place unknown, and walked for three hours and counting in the gathering dark. Neville and Ernie led the party. A small contingent had been awaiting them, and fanned out upon arrival. They had tried to jog the distance, but Harry and Ron could barely keep the pace up for over a minute, and so now they walked in silence.

The cooling sweat caused Harry to shiver. They paused at the base of a low rise. Around them, at a single gesture from Neville, their escort of wraiths froze, wordless. They folded into the shadows, silent.

'She's down there,' Neville began. 'Under guard-'

He saw Harry's face twitch in disdain.

'It's the only way, Harry. All you need to do is be there. Be there, and Acquiesce. The rest will be up to her.'

Harry stared at his companions defiantly. What if he didn't? What if he refused? Surely they wouldn't stop him fleeing. He could run and take himself away from it all. There would be no one to find him, no one to beg him for the honour of adding their death to the chain that hung so heavy around his neck. His mistakes then would be his own-

'C'mon Harry,' Ron urged softly. 'The sooner we take care of this, the sooner we can get her back.'

The hurt hadn't left Ron's eyes in forty-nine days. Of course Harry couldn't flee. He dreamed of a world where his mistakes meant nothing, yet couldn't remedy his most grievous one of all.

He nodded in silence. Another hand movement, and the wraiths ascended. They crested the rise and Harry couldn't have found words to speak even if he had wanted.

The sprawling, ivy-draped mass of a run-down estate house crouched low in the small valley before them. Yawning darkness filled windows, and vines were the only roofing for much of the building. Running water sounded somewhere in the distance.

Gathered by wandlight, before the threshold of the house, were no fewer than fifty figures. Cloaked, from this distance little more than smudges of deeper black against the poorly lit landscape. Ernie let out a jet of green light from his wand. All around the valley, answering bursts of gold responded from no fewer than twenty positions. Upon the final signal, Ernie gestured the group forward, and they descended into the valley.

Harry saw the tears in Ron's eyes, as they hungrily searched the crowd for familiar faces.

'How- how many?' Harry asked a question that had haunted him from the moment they had fled the Fall.

'This is only a few,' Neville replied. 'We're dug in elsewhere. Trick is finding somewhere away from the Burrowers. We've been rooting them out from this valley for the past fortnight. Realigned a few. Removed a few more.'

Harry scowled openly. They continued on in silence.

Ron's face hardened as they joined the crowd, and the faces became apparent. Few enough were familiar. They passed through a double-perimeter, one facing outwards, another in. A single witch stood at the centre of the inner ring.

'Where is everyone,' Ron whispered.

'Safe, for the most part. We couldn't move too many who were close to you, lest we garner unwanted attention. Of what remains, those here are the ones we could trust completely. We don't know how many Voldemort has on our side.'

The wraiths melded into the ranks with their peers. Guarded gazes followed the four as they approached the inner ring, and the lone witch. Lambent eyes watched silently from within deep hoods.

'Harry Potter.'

The witch turned her gaze upon him, and Harry shuddered. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused. Her mouth hung open haphazardly, displaying a row of filed teeth. Her skin was yellow and taught like stretched parchment. She was missing her left arm from the shoulder down, and the sleeve of her tattered robe hung mockingly limp.

'She's been Imperiused,' Harry hissed, rounding on Neville.

'We had to-'

' _Harry Potter!_ Time is of the essence.'

Harry shot Neville a last burning look, and turned to the witch.

'Your hands, Harry Potter. Both of them in my own.'

Harry did as asked. Her skin was rough and calloused.

'Secret Keeper.'

Ron stepped forward.

'Actually, lad,' Ernie interjected. 'Are you sure that's the best idea?'

'He's the only one I can trust,' Harry growled. The harsh words added one more injury to the two boys. He regretted them instantly.

'The target on Ron's head is as big as your own. They want him as bad as they wanted…'

'Hermione,' Ron breathed.

'Even the Burrowers are looking. Anything for a bit of money, a spot of safety. We've brought others we can trust. Let someone else bear this burden Harry.'

'And make the same mistake as my parents?'

Neville flinched visibly, but he gestured, and a dozen faces materialised from the inner ring.

Terry Boot stepped forward, with a pronounced limp and a steely smile, as did a grimy Penelope Clearwater and a stoic Roger Davies. The bright spark in Dennis Creevey's eyes was well and truly stamped out, but he did not hesitate in stepping forward. Harry gasped as Lavender Brown joined them, her movements stiff, her throat covered beneath a thick layer of bandages. The group grew, and they were all familiar faces. Romilda Vane had lost an eye, but still managed to favour Harry with a smile. Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones strode forward, arm in arm, ahead of Dean Thomas and a handful of others.

Harry looked at them all. Silently, he begged them to back down. This was a death sentence. How could he ask any of them to do it? How could they be so ready to take it on? Surely they didn't understand the risks. He received nothing but fiery defiance from each pair of eyes.

'Very well,' Harry growled. They deliberated for a moment, the dozen and Ron waiting in silence. Finally, Harry decided.

'One hand,' the witch drawled. Harry obliged.

She gestured again, and Harry took both of the Secret Keeper's hands in his own.

He closed his eyes, as the feeling of a strong wind buffeted him. It gathered in intensity, until it felt as if it were tugging at more than his clothes, at his very _person._ Both of his hands held tight to his companions'. From somewhere, a faint, malevolent screaming began to sound, the noise caught and snagged on the imaginary wind. It grew in pitch and volume, until it washed over him, replacing the gale until all he could hear was the noise.

Suddenly, heat. And a scream that was very real. He opened his eyes and cried out, as the witch before him became engulfed in flames. Thick, black smoke poured off her body. She flung her single arm wide, and looked Harry directly in the eye as she was consumed, whole.

The heat and the choking smoke forced Harry back, he released the hand of his Secret Keeper, who melded once more into the crowd.

'Did it… work?' Neville asked, tentatively.

Without making eye contact, Harry and the Secret Keeper both nodded, they had both felt the weight settle upon them. Harry rounded on Neville once more, but Ernie and Ron were there, placing themselves between them.

'Not here,' Ernie growled.

'C'mon.'

Ron dragged Harry and Neville around behind the house, out of view of the onlookers. They didn't need to see this, not now, at the very verge of triumph.

Harry wound up and cracked Neville as hard as he could across the jaw. Neville staggered, but remained upright. Harry came in again, landing blows on his body, his face, his chest. Throughout it all, Neville stood, stoic. Giving only a series of grunts as response.

'You fucking _killed_ her!' Harry roared, tears stinging his eyes. 'You _knew!'_

Ron held Harry back, though it was unnecessary now. Neville wiped a smear of blood from a cut lip before replying.

'This is what getting you out of there _at all cost_ looks like, Harry. We had to take risks. We had to do some things we weren't happy about.'

'She was just a Burrower, all she wanted was to survive!'

'If all it takes for evil to prosper is for good men to do nothing, then they're just as bad as the Death Eaters,' Ernie snarled.

'We didn't know that would happen. Hannah looked it up, no-one's ever tried to Imperius someone into casting a Fidelius charm before.'

'Hermione would know,' Ron whispered.

'And now we can start planning how to break her out,' Neville countered.

' _If_ this has even worked.' Harry looked at Ron, 'and _if_ I've learned anything from the mistakes of my parents.'

'You said yourself that you felt it working.' The first hint of nervousness had crept into Ernie's voice.

'Aye, it worked. For now. But Dark Magic has a way of eating away at things, of undermining and corroding the fabric of anything it comes into contact with. It dissolves spells into nothingness. Who's to say it won't do the same here?'

'The Fidelius is a powerful Charm,' Neville countered. 'Chained to the very souls of those who it protects, and those who Keep the Secret.'

'Then you had better hope that it overpowers your Dark Magic, Neville. Or else you might just have killed us both.'

He stalked away from the small gathering, back out to face the gathered crowd. As he rounded the corner he saw them, much to his shame, all salute as one. As the first rays of dawn crested forth above the distant hills, he surveyed the house that would be their new castle. And the breeze dragged gentle fingers across his bare skin.


	3. Chapter 3

_Loose rubble threatened to foul their frantic footsteps, as the Trio dashed down ruined, hazy corridor after ruined, hazy corridor. So damaged was this wing of the Castle that none could tell exactly where they were. Onwards they pressed, as the presence behind them was gaining, possessing of a dogged persistence beyond that of any man._

 _They rounded a corner and came face-to-face with three masked, hooded figures. Back the way they came, the approaching footfalls were slowing. A deep, throaty growl was emanating from the heart of the dust in that direction._

 _Jets of purple light sent the students ducking for cover. This corridor, of all of them, remained intact. There was no escape save for through their attackers, who were now whooping and shouting for reinforcements, calling 'We got Potter!' with a hint of desperation._

 _And so the Trio rallied. They rose as one, casting their own barrage of spells. Catcalls became shouts of alarm, shields were hastily erected. Desperation pushed the footsteps of the students ever forward, and gave them a strength known by only those who face the wild struggle to survive._

 _Something as mundane as an upturned corner of a rug ought to have no place in this tale, yet it caused Ron to stumble for a heartbeat, and a spell slipped through, opening a bloody gash down his left arm. He cried out, and as Harry turned to help, he knew only blackness and pain._

 _Pinned down, one-and-a-half against three, Hermione's wand arm began to shake. Harry writhed on the floor, clawing at his scar. Ron was cradling one useless arm._

 _But in their moment of triumph, the Death Eaters were knocked aside by a massive concussion, and the wall to their right flew inwards, shattering and sending bricks flying. Three figures burst through the gap wearing black robes – with shining red-and-gold borders. Though their hair was greying and their faces were weathered, they wore their house colours one last time._

 _They set upon the Death Eaters as Hermione used the distraction to drag Harry through the gap in the wall, and out to safety. By the time Harry regained his feet, all those who were left standing wore masks, and Greyback had arrived on the scene to reap his rewards._

 _All of that in the space of thirty-seven seconds. That was the price of three lives._

* * *

 _One month after arriving at the mansion._

It was less a settling in to the new normal for Harry, and more of the new normal enveloping him in a smothering embrace. A straightjacket, complete with chains that dragged and clattered behind him everywhere he went, each link forged by a name. A name that was now gone.

The house was adequate; between those that lived there, they had managed to Transfigure, Charm and Summon it into something that was liveable. A nearby creek supplied them with fresh water. They hunted or scavenged for food – often clashing with bands of Burrowers, fighting over scraps like two packs of starving dogs.

It wasn't the house that weighed down Harry's footfalls until he felt he would smash through the tiled flagstones with every step, it was the people. The looks they showered on him, tinged with hope, and expectance and _pride._ It was the way that they stood a little straighter as he entered a room, or made an effort to scrub the dirt from their faces, or clean their filthy robes when they would meet with him.

There were wizards twice his age – faces he didn't even _know_ – who would come before him and offer their gratitude, saying how courageous he was, and how proud they were to stand beside him. In their own eyes, Harry was sure they were doing a good deed, but as each one told him why they fought – for this cousin or that friend or, Merlin forbid, _their own children_ – they succeeded in little more than adding to the links of the chain.

And so, when he could stand it no longer, Harry hid. He locked himself away in the most derelict corner of the house, and screwed his eyes shut until he saw stars. He hugged himself and rocked back and forth. Occasionally a tear would leak from the corner of his eyes, but he would make no sound. He dared not be discovered, he dared not let these faithful know that their leader was a coward.

After one such session, he walked the abandoned hallways alone. Above him, they slate-grey clouds approved of his countenance. Far off, a distant rumble of thunder rolled. For a moment, he had thought it sounded like the rattle of chains.

'Hello Harry.'

Lavender Brown appeared from the shadows before him. In the faded, late-afternoon light her ghostly complexion and pale lips made her appear ethereal. Her hair shimmered about her head like an argent halo, but her features were cast wholly in darkness.

'L-Lavender. What are you doing here?'

'I find it better to be alone when railing against the injustice the world thrusts upon us.'

Her voice was hoarse and ragged, a shadow of the playful lilt she once possessed.

'I just needed to clear my head,' Harry offered flatly.

'We all need some time free from the reminder of the grievances we bear. I find sleep the best release. When my eyes close, I am whole again. It isn't until they open, and that first breath drags burning claws down my ruined throat that I realise what I have become. But in sleep, I am free. I am… at peace.'

Harry envied her the serenity of her dreams, and the respite of proper sleep.

'We're not so different, you and I,' she continued. 'I have my scars on the outside, while yours are somewhat more… _hidden,_ but they both hurt just the same. Tell me, Harry, they say that picking at a wound will stop it from healing, so what is the effect of driving a knife into it over and over again?'

Harry flinched visibly. How could she _know?_ He took one step back, then another, finally spinning and fleeing without looking back over his shoulder.

The mockery of Lavender's once-musical laugh chased him all the way out of the house.

'Alright there, old chap? You look like you've seen a ghost.'

Harry started, as he nearly bumped into Ernie on the weed-carpeted courtyard outside. A feeble breeze stirred his friend's tattered robe. Far to the west, a dusky veil of rain hung low, attendant to the now-regular rolls of thunder.

He wanted to run, to be away from it all, to shout and yell and rail until his throat burned, but there was work to do.

'Alright mate, just ran into Lavender-'

'That explains it.'

Ernie wrapped a wiry, muscled arm around Harry's shoulders and guided him inside. This close, Harry could see a fresh burn scar shining dimly in the light.

'Status reports, O Fearless One. You've been avoiding them. There are decisions to be made.'

Harry grimaced inwardly. To Ernie, he offered a stoic nod, allowing himself to be guided through the barren entrance hall.

'I'm pleased to announce that Ernie's Complimentary Burrower Extraction Service has secured a six-kilometre radius around the Castle. Not a single one of those scallywags in sight. We're looking to extend the Warded perimeter this evening, there's a wizard from Guernsey who we've ah… acquired the services of who has a bit of a knack for these sorts of things.'

Those gathered here had taken to naming the sprawling, shabby country mansion after the Hogwarts Castle, and so it was that Harry countenanced this news as they strolled passed the ' _Grand Staircase'_ and towards their makeshift Sundial Garden.

'Good job, Ernie,' Harry ground out. How many Burrowers hadn't been offered the opportunity to be 'Extracted'? How many more links to this chain were people forging in Harry's name?

'Not so positive across the board, though. Susan's foraging parties are coming back empty-handed more often than not. We've got food stocks to last us maybe a week, and then we're in trouble. Nev's search-and-rescue program has identified another target – a Davies relative, I think – that the Burrower's have ratted out to _his_ lot. They're making their move tonight.'

The pair made their way past Hannah Abbott, scribbling furiously into a thick ledger. She had voluntarily taken on the role of Resistance Administrator, as she called it, and was diligently taking stock of resources, movements, lives lost. All of that accounting work that a war demanded. She gave them a cheery wave.

'I don't like changing the wards on the same night as a Search-and-Rescue,' Harry ground out. 'If Neville comes back with a tail and the wards aren't up…'

'We haven't much of a choice. The lad from Guernsey only er… _agreed_ to one night.'

'Any news from Ron?' Harry silently begged for something positive.

'Nothing new. He's picked up on those rumblings about the Muggleborn camp in the far north from a different source, might be some merit in it.'

'Might also be a trap.'

'Aye, it might at that. He's out west at the moment, following leads.'

The Sundial Garden was little more than a shabby storeroom that they'd pulled the roof in on, somewhere in the bowels of the mansion. Someone had made an effort of recreating the actual Sundial to mirror that at Hogwarts, and it stood atop a roughly-cut log, in the centre of a room full of rotting floorboards and mouldy tapestries.

The first drops of rain began to fall, but the pair remained.

'Cut the rations in half, starting tonight.'

'They'll not like that,' Ernie warned.

'They'll like starvation even less. We can't fight a war on empty stomachs. Send half of your troops to Susan to help with the foraging parties.'

Ernie twisted his mouth distastefully, but merely nodded acquiescence.

'And cancel Neville's mission for tonight.'

The statement hit Ernie like a physical blow.

 _And now you know some of what it means to lead, friend._

'But the Davies kid… He'll probably-'

'I know what the Burrowers do, Ernie. How many did you lose clearing this six kilometres?'

'F-four.'

'And what do you think will happen if they can descend on this land again, without any wards to keep them at bay? I'm not paying that price over again.'

Harry looked back up the corridor to where he knew Hannah was seated. Simple accounting, at the end of the day. One terrified wizard now sentenced to death to ensure the safety of the continued Resistance. One more link in the chain.

Somewhere out there, Voldemort was laughing; for Harry was now forging them all by himself.


	4. Chapter 4

_A moment of respite among the violent throes of battle seemed like a stolen thing. Not deserved. It made Harry's shoulders itch. He paced the tiny room like a cat in a cage. The ache of his scar still echoed. Reminding him he'd never be free of it so long as he shared this existence with Voldemort._

 _In the corner of the room, Hermione tended to Ron. Though unable to hear the words they shared, he was privy to the tone. And so he afforded as much privacy as he could manage._

 _Screams and crashes and a deep, reverberating growl shook the castle. They needed to be fighting. People were dying at that very moment. In his name._

 _The door to their room burst open. Harry very nearly pulled the wall down on the newcomer. Terry Boot, wild-eyed. A splinter of woodwork as long as Harry's hand jutted from his left calf._

' _Slytherins,' he gasped. 'Escaped. Fighting.' He collapsed in a heap upon the floor._

 _Ron was up in a heartbeat, makeshift bandage on his arm. Terry took his place._

 _A chance to fight._

 _The boys stood at the door, cast one last glance back at Hermione, already engrossed in her ministrations._

' _Stay here; stay safe. We'll be back soon.'_

 _And they left her. Alone, unguarded. Drained from her work. Completely unaware that it was the last time they might ever see her alive._

* * *

 _Three weeks since the Davies cousin was lost._

The "North Tower" of their dilapidated castle was little more than a tight, angled staircase up to a secluded master bedroom. What carpet had once adorned the stairs had long since moulded away and rotted through, leaving a threadbare skin of deep carmine, where dirt or age hadn't stolen even that. The balustrade was so chipped and splintered that to use it was more risk than assistance. Grimy windows let in a muddied version of the pallid evening light. A single shattered pane funnelled in a whistling breeze, overlooked in the efforts to tidy the building.

The group had offered Harry the master bedroom upon his arrival. He'd spent only a single night in that lonely place before deciding he'd never sleep there again. He could imagine the room in a past life, a lonely damsel whiling away the hours by gazing out through the large bay window across immaculate grounds. The ghost of her presence haunted him from the moment he had entered. The aching isolation still echoed from every corner. The greasy window served only as a mocking insight into the past glories of their new abode, showing glimpses of overgrown grounds, and orchards long dead.

And then nighttime had come, and in the shadows had lurked the echo of every failure he'd suffered since the day of the Battle. An endless repetition of the names that had fallen in his stead. And when he ran out of names, he screamed at the injustice for all the ones he did not know, for surely they, too, deserved to be remembered just the same.

Ever since that night, he'd slept with the others. In a different room every night. Rotating between ratty cots and merely a spot on the floor. He'd burned the bed, and instead filled the room the only way he could think of to combat the isolation.

'Hiya, Harry!'

'Hey, Romilda.'

Who'd have guessed that a misspent youth dedicated to crafting potions and tinctures and salves of all kinds to attract the attention of the opposite sex would have led to one of the youngest Master Potioneers in a generation? The moment he stepped into the room, Harry was assaulted by a barrage of scents and sounds from over a dozen simultaneously-bubbling cauldrons, all under the watchful eye of Romilda Vane.

'Welcome to the dungeons!' she exclaimed brightly, gesturing Harry into the room. He had to tread carefully around the makeshift benches, piled high with what ingredients they had been able to steal or scavenge. He nodded greeting to Terry Boot, busily de-needling one of a half-dozen porcupines lined up before him. He didn't seem to be sharing in Romilda's enthusiasm.

'It's… impressive,' Harry finally managed, gazing around the room. A dozen miniature fires crackled away in harmony. Clouds of multi-coloured smoke mingled about upon the ceiling.

Romilda waved impatiently, eventually grabbing him by the sleeve to pull him into the room proper. Her olive skin was flushed red with exertion and excitement, shining a light on the scattering of freckles, high upon her cheeks. In the steamy, humid air of the potions "dungeon", her ringlets were on the wild side of frizzy. The harshness of the juxtaposition of her bright smile against the black lace cloth tied around her single missing eye was enough even to draw Harry's attention and curiosity out of his ever-present funk.

'These ones need to sit beneath the glow of firelight,' she said proudly, gesturing to three cauldrons on a table nearby. 'And these ones smell _awful_ , so they go near the window. This one here can't be anywhere near _that_ one over there, or else the whole castle will explode around us. And this one… this little lonely one here, I call him Steve.'

'Erm… Steve?'

'Uh-huh,' she nodded brightly, as if it were obvious.

'What does Steve… do, exactly?'

'Well, I'll tell you when he's finished brewing,' she said with a playful wink.

Just to be on the safe side, Harry gave "Steve" a wide berth as they made their way to the back of the room.

'Ta-da!' Romilda said, as the pair arrived at a desk set up against the back wall of the room. The wall behind it was bare and unpainted. The wardrobe that had been here had been torn down and re-made into tables and workstations. Furniture that was of use. Expedience outweighed luxury in everything they did.

'Impressive,' Harry repeated, studying the complex network of glass vials and tubes that clambered up atop the table almost as high again as he was tall. At the end nearest them, a tiny bead of moisture dripped into a delicate crystal tube, filling the vessel to the brim.

'Got 'em,' Romilda cheered triumphantly, sweeping out the tube, stoppering it, and tossing it over her shoulder to Harry in one deft movement. He had to lunge to catch it, and gingerly placed it in a padded pocket on the inside of his coat.

'So this will work, then?' he asked, a little sceptical.

'Course it will – I made it.'

'One hour?'

'One hour.'

'And three drops?'

'Three drops. Is there an echo in here?'

Harry merely nodded his thanks. Patted the pocket as if already checking to make sure the vial hadn't disappeared.

'Oh, and one other thing,' she said, fishing out a small, unmarked plastic bottle from the pocket of her jeans.

'What's this, then?' Harry asked, popping the cap and smelling it. It was fragrant and floral.

'Moisturizer. For your hands. They're ever so rough.' She bit her tongue as part of the devilish smile she flashed in his direction.

Harry rolled his eyes, but pocketed the bottle nonetheless, before turning to leave. In the doorway, though, he halted. Cast a glance back over his shoulder.

'How do you do it? He asked sincerely.

'Oh, it's easy! You just squeeze the bottle. About a fingernail's worth, and then rub it on your hands-'

'No, no… perhaps now how, then. _Why?_ Why go to all the effort; the smiles and laughing. The jokes. We're fighting a war. We're _losing_ a war. All around us, people are dying, or being rounded up like animals. Don't you think it's a little, I don't know… irreverent?'

To her immense credit, Romilda's smile hardly faltered as she returned Harry's oh, so heavy gaze.

'I do it because nobody asked for this burden, Harry. Not only you. Because everyone out there is fighting for a lover or a brother or a son. And if I can make them think, even only for a minute, that maybe not _all_ of the colour has been sucked from the world, then the whole act is worth it. Because _everyone_ deserves hope, Harry.'

They locked gazes for a long minute. Harry's green-eyed and stoic; hers ruined but defiant. After a shared eternity, Harry nodded. It might have been taken for thanks.

'Make sure to take care of this mayhem. Don't blow the place up before I get back, at least.'

'Don't worry,' she called, as Harry began down the staircase. 'I'll keep _an eye_ on it!'

And for the first time in what might have been a month, Harry Potter smiled.

Out in the Entrance Hall, Ron stood waiting for him, fidgeting and shifting weight from foot to foot. Impatient.

'You're looking chipper,' he noted.

'Taking to Romilda,' Harry replied.

'Ah. Reckon she's inhaled a few too many potion fumes, if you ask me.'

'Reckon you might be right.'

'Still… could be something in that. Might be there are worse ways to fight a war than off your rocker.'

'Might be,' Harry agreed, still pensive.

Footsteps announced new arrivals. Ernie and Neville, their shoulders set defiantly, mouths compressed into thin lines. Harry swore under his breath; it could only mean trouble.

'You can't be serious, Harry,' Neville began.

'This just isn't on, old boy,' Ernie scowled. 'We'll not let you risk it.'

'I'm not going to hear it, gents,' Harry growled in response. 'I'm going. End of story.'

'And what happens if you get caught?' Neville asked.

'We won't,' Harry assured them flatly.

The pair both looked to Ron for support, but he gave no more than a shrug of the shoulders. For which Harry was deeply grateful. Ron knew. Harry didn't just _want_ to do this; he _needed_ it. They both did. This failure, more than any of the others in the string of calamities that had followed them since the Battle of Hogwarts, hung the heaviest around their necks. So much so, that at times they couldn't lift their heads to look each other in the eye. They needed to be the ones to do this.

They needed to get Hermione back.

'At least let us come with you,' Neville said. There was a note of pleading in his voice though. They'd won.

'Two attract less notice than four. Death Eaters run these operations lean. We will too.'

Harry's tone brooked no argument. The boys eventually nodded, and a knot release in Harry's shoulders that he didn't know had been there.

'Who knows,' he said, putting on a show of a wry smile. 'It might do everyone some good to see me out and about for once, not moping around this place all day. Might show them there's some hope. Merlin knows, we all deserve a little of that.'

All three nodded vigorously, and as Ron and Harry said their farewells, the two they left behind stood a little straighter, even went so far as to flash a pair of thin smiles.

Perhaps there was something in what Romilda had said, after all.

* * *

Far from the safety of their makeshift castle, Harry and Ron ghosted through the night-still countryside. Above them a sickle moon held council among the stars. A few tattered clouds dirtied the nightscape low and to the east. The air so still and fresh that it stung their cheeks and set eyes to watering. Occasionally, over the rush of their own breathing, the sound of a breaking wave would reach them.

The land they haunted was one of low, humpy dunes and round-topped hummocks dotted with ratty grasses and spinifex. The scent of the sea sat across it all, hanging both heavy and sharp between the mounds like a sort of mist. The loose, sandy soil fouled footsteps more often than not, and it was slow going as the pair were forced to stick to the low points, out of sight. Up ahead, the first sighting of man-made light appeared. They halted a moment, squatting down, using the hushing of the waves to hide their whispered words.

'So this is it,' Harry whispered, lowering the cloth tied across his face to speak.

'Aye,' Ron nodded, similarly enshrouded in a dark cowl that left only his eyes free. 'Shack up ahead. Be abandoned, now. Warded, I'd say. Two will Apparate in – Snatchers, mostly – with a few of the Wandless in tow. They drag 'em inside and…' he finished his sentence with a shrug. It was all that needed to be said.

'So we've got, what, thirty seconds between their Apparating and them getting behind the wards?'

'About that. It's a short walk. We'll set up nearby; jump them when they appear.'

'Snatch ourselves a Snatcher, find out where they're transporting all these Wandless, and just where they're keeping Hermione.' Harry's grin was wicked. He followed Ron to their chosen ambush point, and settled in to wait.

It was a simple plan. The hard part had already been done by Ron in finding the information to lead them to this point. But equally, it was undone by something just as simple.

 _Crack!_ The still night air shattered as the first of the Snatchers appeared. Ron and harry leapt from their hiding spot to confront him, looking to capitalise on the half-second of disorientation following any Apparition.

 _Crack!_ The second appeared. They split targets, as planned.

 _Crack! Crack!_

'Fuck!' Ron swore as two more figures appeared. These two had a cluster of a half-dozen ragged souls tied up with rope dragged along behind them. But that wasn't their biggest issue: the two new appearances were garbed in the sweeping black robes and frightening silver masks of Death Eaters.

Harry had to dive to his left as a huge jet of purple light leapt from one of their wands towards him. The spell shattered half of the hillside behind him and shook the ground beneath his feet.

There shouldn't have been four of them. _Why were there four of them?_

Harry and Ron were immediately pressed backwards. They'd leapt out from a low wall, bordering the grounds of the shack to which the Death Eaters were headed. They'd sought to cut them off between the Apparition area and the wards surrounding the shack. Against two Snatchers, it would have been possible. But four opponents, and two of them Death Eaters…

Behind them now, was a wall of wards engineered to specifically keep people like them out. Painfully. The only cover afforded was a scattering of gnarled, twisted trees, scoured bare by the salt and the wind from the sea. Harry ducked behind one. It erupted in a rain of splinters beneath a great whip of fire conjured by a Death Eater.

'It's the fucking Fallen,' cried one of the Snatchers. 'Not this time, you bastards!'

Harry took a moment to frown in confusion. _Fallen?_

Spellfire lit up the air around them. Explosions and collisions turned night into day for the space between two heartbeats. The flashes played hell with Harry's night vision. He tripped over half-buried driftwood. Just in time for a jet of green light to flash past the place he'd just stood.

Ron bellowed a spell, shattering a Death Eater's guard and drawing blood. A fan of black spurted from his shoulder in the moonlight. A roar of pain overshadowed the grunts and curses on all parts.

Both Death Eaters drew back, yanking on the ropes that bound their Wandless cargo.

'Take care of this,' the unharmed one roared. And they split the night again with their Disapparition. The ghost of a scream, and a spray of dark mist pervaded the air they vacated. Harry had to look away, as a scattering limbs and parts of limbs was left behind from the violent Splinching of some of their hostages.

Harry rolled behind a log of gnarled driftwood. Felt it shudder under the barrage of spells from the remaining Snatchers. Was there a hint of panic in their cries now? Had the Death Eaters abandoned them, or gone to seek reinforcements?

A well-timed _Expelliarmus_ slipped around the guard of one of the Snatchers. Ron roared triumphantly, and before Harry could say anything, a huge swath of red light leapt from his wand, disintegrating the top half of the Snatcher's body.

His lone companion tried to flee, but Harry stunned him before he could. Thankfully, Ron left this one intact. His battle-rage had not taken over so completely, at least.

Their new captive was middle-aged. Thin and wiry, with bruised eyes and yellowed teeth. An old scar traced beneath one eye, criss-crossed by a fresh gash. He was coated in a spattering of blood – the remains of his one-time companion.

His face was unfamiliar. Which made this easier, somehow. If he didn't know the man then it was easier not to dwell on his family. Children and loved ones. Strange, how the world worked; where even the most twisted and foul had someone who would mourn their loss.

'The fuck you want?' he growled at them when he finally came to. They'd bound him so he couldn't Disapparate. Didn't stop him trying.

In place of answering, Ron wound up and cracked him across the jaw with his fist. The Snatcher's eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped down to the sand, unconscious.

'Bit counter-productive, considering we're tight on time, I'd have thought,' Harry said drily.

Ron shrugged. 'Don't like Snatchers.'

There was no disagreeing with that.

The second time he came around, the pair were more prepared. They'd propped him up on a felled log. Harry had the Snatcher's wand in his own back pocket.

'Fucken Fallen scum,' the Snatcher snarled. 'We'll hunt every last one of you into the ground like the traitors you are.'

'Who _are_ the Fallen,' Harry asked.

A moment of confusion flashed across the Snatcher's face, before he grinned, and spat a mouthful of blood and phlegm all over Harry. 'Well if you don't know, _I_ ain't gonna tell ya.'

Harry cleaned himself with shaking hands. The Death Eaters could return at any moment. Then they'd _really_ be in trouble. Ron stepped forward and lowered his wand.

'Wait,' Harry growled, and produced the vial from his pocket.

'What's that?' Ron asked.

'Veritaserum.'

The Snatcher wheezed with laughter.

'Sod that mate,' Ron argued. 'Let me Imperius him. Can throw Veritaserum easier than the Imperius.'

'We go around using Unforgiveables, then we're no better than they are,' Harry said, deadpan. The Imperius, in particular, sat ill with him. Particularly after what the group had done to the Witch who cast the Fidelius for him.

'Just fucking Imperius me,' the Snatcher spat. Harry had to resist the urge to punch him himself.

'So you'll go for some crackpot concoction of Romilda's?'

'I trust her.'

Ron shrugged. A grudging concession. Harry forced the liquid down the Snatcher's throat. In the struggle, his cowl slipped off, revealing his face. And more importantly, his scar.

A moment of fear cracked the mask of hatred, as the Snatcher realised what the revelation went.

'Who are the Fallen?' Harry asked again.

'Group of infidels' the Snatcher growled. The words were torn from his throat as if it cost him great physical pain. 'Turncoats. Was an insurrection a while back. After Hogwarts. They haunt the countryside. From here north to Hogwarts. Hunting Snatchers. Word is they put a bounty on Death Eater masks. Head's still in 'em. Dunno who they are, but they wear green armbands when they fight.'

His chest heaved, as if the monologue had ripped something vital from him. He leered at Harry and Ron. Hatred burned hot in his eyes.

'Where's Hermione?' Ron butted in, urgency charging his voice.

'The golden Mudblood.' The Snatcher leered. He tried to spit again, but something in the potion stopped him this time. Sent him into a fit of coughing.

'Is she alive?' Harry fought back the wave of anxiety that the question engendered.

'Fucked if I know. On both counts.'

The hint of a constricting weight settled back around Harry's chest. It had been too easy, then. Too much to hope for.

'Well what _do_ you know,' Ron hissed.

'I know we round up all the Mudbloods and Wandless. Bring 'em here. Process 'em. Send 'em to a place up north. I know they was keeping that Mudblood girl alive last I heard. Trap for you to walk into. Now I know you're stupid enough to fall for it. Hah!'

'Where are they keeping her? Where do you take the ones you capture? What's the guard like? Does Voldemort know our movements?' The questions flowed forth from both of their lips. A chance to know all of the uncertainties that had haunted them these past few months. As their time slowly bled away, a desperation to know it all crept over them both.

'Don't know. Don't know any of it. They don't trust us, see? Don't tell us _shit._ All's I know is we take the Mudbloods to a place in the hills a ways north of here. They get realigned. Indoctrinated. Whatever. Either way, after they come out, they ain't no trouble no more.'

'Where is this place?' both boys pressed.

'West of the Gala. 'Bout ten miles. Cross another river, then up a dirt track a little way. Was an old Muggle village. Ain't anymore. Heh.'

'Can you draw it on a map?'

'Sure.'

Ron produced a scrap of parchment, and the Snatcher sketched a rough outline of the directions. His progress was slow, and Harry's whole body was starting to itch in anticipation.

The moment he was done, Ron tore the parchment from his grip. The boys shared a look. They'd gleaned all the information they were going to. Their time was about up.

They stood to leave. There was only one thing left to do.

'You want to know a truth?' The Snatcher snarled at them defiantly. 'Here's a truth. You're no better than he is, in a way. Sure, the Dark Lord makes a show of being evil. Maybe he does it enough for the both of you. So's that nobody notices you're just as bad as he is. Every day goes by that you don't turn yourself in he kills someone. You know that? He wants you to know that. Says he'll stop, when he has you. I'd start carrying a shovel, if I were you. All these people you're killing… gonna need a mighty big grave-'

Ron kicked the Snatcher viciously in the midriff, interrupting his speech. He doubled over, vomiting onto the sand beside him. Ron raised his wand to do the thing.

'No,' Harry said. 'Let me.'

There was no fear in the Snatcher's eyes as he glared upwards. He robbed Harry of even that.

Harry stared down, his lip curling in distaste. He saw his own disgust mirrored back in the murky, bruised eyes. He'd not kill him in cold blood. He'd not fallen that far – not yet, at least. Despite what the Snatcher said. Principles were all that kept his mind intact.

' _Obliviate!'_ he roared, pushing a surge of effort and energy into the spell.

He Disapparated before he could see the effects. If he left the Snatcher blank-eyed and drooling from the power, then so be it. He'd made his decision. As far as Harry was concerned, it was all part of the job.


	5. Chapter 5

_They arrived in the corridor just in time to see a horde of Slytherins descend upon the handful of DA members left to guard the position._

 _The corridor had been lightly guarded. No-one considered the Slytherins turning their wands upon their own classmates as a serious threat._

 _Pansy Parkinson's shrill laughter cut above the sounds of battle drifting through from other parts of the castle. Harry could only look on in dismay as she cut down Colin Creevey where he stood with a wicked Hex._

 _Harry sprinted to join the fray as the Slytherins fell upon his friends. Luna hit Millicent Bulstrode square in the chest with a Stunner, but this served only to send her into a rage. Forgetting she was a witch entirely, she dove at the nearest enemy figure – Romilda Vane – in a lunging tackle. Romilda's screams were cut short, and Harry winced to see Millicent's wand jutting from one eye socket._

 _Ron's roar was that of a charging bull. His spell threw Millicent six feet back up the hallway. And then harry and Ron were among their friends, fending off the attack._

 _Harry blocked a Cutter aimed for his throat, spun, turning the movement into a spell that slammed a pair of Slytherins into the wall. They slumped to the floor, unconscious. He brought his wand back in a slashing arc as a figure reared up in his vision – a sixth year he didn't know by name – the attacker fell away, clutching a ruined throat as blood flowed freely through his fingers. Beside him, Ron felled three in a matter of seconds, using wand or fists or both, and then there were none remaining. They'd fled down an unguarded side corridor. Pansy's cackle still echoed even long after the group had gone._

 _The sixth-year he'd cut now lay still. The remaining few DA members were tending to Romilda. She'd woken, and her screams had begun again in earnest. Harry looked down at his wand in disgust. Student against student, in the very halls of Hogwarts herself. How far the castle had fallen. And he along with it. His soul would be painted black by the end of the day, he could feel it. And oh, how heavy it weighed upon him._

* * *

Their War Room was a broom closet. Or at least, that's where they'd have been standing if they were in the real Hogwarts castle. The wide oak doors that opened off the high-ceilinged entrance to their makeshift castle had been torn down and recycled into a long table that ran the length of the room. They'd been replaced with tattered curtains. The space had been a formal lounge in a past life. They could see their Great Hall across from them. The smells of dinner past still lingering enticingly in the air.

Harry didn't know if it was ironic, or foolish, that they were plotting the downfall of a Dark Lord from a broom closet, but there it was. It would be the same closet that he'd hidden in a lifetime ago when tricking Crabbe and Goyle with drugged muffins. The same one Ron and Lavender had been caught in by Professor McGonagall doing what she had called "unspeakable acts".

Stories from a happier time. Regardless, the name had stuck. And thus the "War Closet" had been born. Cemented in scratched wood above the lintel as they all entered the room.

Most who called the mansion their home were in attendance. Harry stood at the head of the table, Ron at his right shoulder. Ernie and Neville faced them from the opposite end. Susan and Hannah were there, along with Dean Thomas and Terry Boot. Romilda, Luna, even little Dennis Creevey was present. Lavender haunted the shadows at the back of the room.

Between them all, on the makeshift table hovered a gently glowing map of Britain. Cities, roads and riverways. Rugged coastlines and the craggy faces of the mountains around Hogwarts, all made miniature. Their position was marked in a glowing blue light. As was that of any other knot of resistance fighters that the group knew of. The Burrow, Godric's Hollow. These last few strongholds that refused to bow.

Between them, in a pale, pulsating red, spread the web of the power of Lord Voldemort. From the heart of the Ministry in London, and now from the north as well, from the new Hogwarts that was – even as they stood there – being remade in his image. A newly-minted stronghold for Dark Magic upon the shores of Britain. The red far outweighed the blue. Whole cities, and the routes of travel between them that were no longer safe. Swaths of countryside patrolled by his henchmen. Like a sickness, spreading from an infected heart, along the magical veins of the entire country. A parasite, destroying and remaking the host. The spots of blue were few, and much red stood between them.

A dire reminder of the state of their efforts, indeed.

'Thanks for coming,' Harry finally said into the silence. A round of sombre nods answered back. He gestured for Ron to speak.

'We've a new lead on where they've taken Hermione,' he mumbled. He pointed to the spot the Snatcher had described. A softly pulsating knot of pale red. 'Outpost here is where they take the Wandless they round up. Some sort of Indoctrination camp. Doubt she's there, but it's the only lead we've got. Harry and I will-'

'Just a minute, my boy,' Ernie interjected. ' _Harry_ and you will do no such thing.'

'What are you talking about?' Ron's voice was a low, menacing growl. Ernie held his hands up defensively. It was Neville who spoke up.

'You walked into a trap last time. You were probably a few seconds away from half of the country's Death Eaters landing in your lap. That's not a fight you win. Let us take the risks next time. We're expendable. You're not.'

'Nobody is expendable!' Harry roared, crashing his fist onto the table. The whole of Britain shook in response to his wrath.

'And we fight for you because you truly believe that Harry,' Susan said. Her tone gentle and soothing. 'But without one of us, this war goes on. Without you… I dare not think. You've done what you needed to start us down this path. Let us help the rest of the way. When the time comes to bring her home, we all know it will be you leading the charge. But for this, please, let us.'

Did they not see what they were doing to him with their dogged loyalty? Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat. What was one more weight upon his shoulders when the load already sat so heavy? He nodded mutely, not meeting anybody's eye.

'Thank you Harry,' Susan whispered.

'I suppose the next thing up is finding out who these Fallen are, and how to get a hold of them,' Neville said to the group.

'If we can even trust them,' Ron grumbled.

'They're defectors,' Harry explained. 'At least according to the Snatcher we spoke to. Don't know when or why, but they broke off from Voldemort's lot and are now giving him one hell of a headache up north.'

'Sound like my kind of people,' Ernie grinned.

'Once a turncoat, always a turncoat.' Ron spat. 'Who's to say they'll be loyal to us? Or even that they're on our side at all?'

'The Snatcher said they wore green armbands. I thought maybe they'd be Slytherins.'

'Then they're probably just out for personal gain.'

'Not _all_ the Slytherins fought against us at the Battle, Ron.'

'No,' Romilda said. 'But the ones who did sure left a mark.' For once, she wasn't wearing her usual cheery smile.

'We vote.' Harry told them. The rising murmurs stilled at the sound of his words. 'All in favour of making contact?' Easily more than half the hands went up. Ron's and Romilda's both stayed down. 'Settled, then.' Harry's eyes scanned the room. 'Dean, you're now in charge of external relations. Find a way to contact them. Might be they're looking for allies. Merlin, we could all use a friend.'

Dean nodded stoically.

'If that's the case, then I'll help out,' Romilda added. 'There a few folk in green I'd be _real keen_ to get to meet.'

'Fine. But we're playing nice,' Harry warned, and left it at that.

The tedium of campaign administration took over from that point, and Harry tried not to let it wear him down. It was funny, he supposed, how the horrors of what they were facing on a daily basis could be so well hidden behind something as simple and banal as a blocked drain preventing anyone using the upstairs bathroom, or that they were down to their last few days' worth of fresh meat. He wondered briefly if such things were ever brought before Voldemort as concerns.

Susan and Luna had planted a small crop of vegetables to aid in their foraging and food-gathering efforts. Luna spent her days trying to coax some life back into the wretched orchard out the front of the mansion. Neville had received reports of the next target on the Death Eaters list. And was manoeuvring in to place to act before they did, all without giving away their own movements and location. Ernie spoke briefly about his run-ins with the Burrowers. As Susan had to push her search for food out ever wider, so, too did Ernie need to ensure the area was safe for her to do so. His was the messiest work of all of them. Dealing with the denizens of magical society who had left it behind, in fear for their safety. Opportunistically preying on any wizard or Muggle unfortunate or stupid enough to cross their path.

Harry gave a dark chuckle, which halted the conversation for a moment. They weren't so different from the Burrowers, really. It was merely that theirs was the virtue of for fighting for a cause. As if survival alone wasn't enough of one.

It was with relief that Harry finally called an end to the meeting. The group dispersed in silence. Back to whatever menial tasks they took on to fill their evenings. He let them go, until he thought he'd be the only one left in the room. When he looked up from the map table, he was surprised to see Susan still there, looking on with concern.

'It's hard,' he told her. Despite not meaning to. 'To stay positive in this room, when every time we come here, this damned map keeps looking worse. More red. Less blue. Closing in from every side and we sit here and talk about how many vegetables we're able to grow. We're not _doing_ anything. And every day he keeps getting stronger, his hold more secure.'

'You're right, of course.' Harry hadn't expected to hear that. He looked at her sharply. She held her head high, her shoulders back. The grisly scar around her throat she wore like a necklace. She'd never spoke of who it had been or when it was that she'd been hanged as a blood traitor. Harry was merely glad she'd survived. 'We're licking our wounds. Regrouping. As we need to do after such a bitter loss. To throw ourselves at the enemy now, in our weakened state would be suicide.

'And as for something to be positive about Harry, think on this: since you arrived here, we haven't lost a single person. We lost six, in the weeks immediately after the battle. You've kept us safe, Harry. And if that's not something to be happy about, then I don't know what is.'

She smiled at him with that warm, genuine smile, and Harry couldn't help but feel some of his worries melt before it. There was something to be said about keeping the odd Hufflepuff around in hard times. Something about the strength of their friendship that was able to overshadow even some of his darkest hours.

Voices came from the Entrance Hall. Yells of excitement. Harry looked up.

'Oh, and there's one other thing that might help with that positive mood…'

The two figures that appeared in the doorway before him punched the breath clean out of Harry's lungs. He had to lay a hand on the table to keep his balance, as the world seemed to tilt, rearranging itself so that the two newcomers were at the centre of it.

Arthur Weasley strode into the room without a moment's hesitation. Forgoing his usual firm handshake, he wrapped Harry up into a full-bodied hug.

'Harry, my boy,' he whispered into the top of Harry's head. 'My boy…'

They had only a moment to pull apart and share a tear-stained gaze before Harry was nearly knocked clean off his feet by a hurtling ball of red hair.

Ginny didn't say anything, only held him so tightly that he thought he might never get away. Her body shook slightly, and when she pulled away there was a small damp patch upon the collar of his shirt. She wiped her eyes, as if suddenly embarrassed.

The weeks since the Fall hadn't been overly kind to her. She wore a t-shirt and jeans, both of which hung a little loosely from her frame. Her skin seemed stretched and tight. Her cheekbones jutted in a way they hadn't before, showing off the scattering of freckles upon each. Dark rings, like macabre makeup, sat beneath each eye. Her hair, always long, hadn't seen attention in months, and now fell comfortably down past her waist.

But Harry wouldn't have changed a thing.

The rest of the group – the core players at least – huddled in around the Weasleys, looking a mixture of sheepish and exuberant.

'How long have you known?' Harry asked them. Ginny slipped her hand into his, and laced their fingers tightly.

'A while,' Ron admitted. 'Thought we'd keep it a surprise.'

'You did, did you? How'd that be: Boy Who Lived Dies of Heart Attack Amidst War Efforts. Can just see the _Prophet_ headline now.'

'Harry,' Mr Weasley said. 'D'you mind at all if we have a bit of a word? I noticed you had rather a fetching map I'd quite like a look at.'

Harry tried not to sigh as he gestured them through. Not even a reunion as longed-for as this could escape the necessities of a war.

Mr Weasley informed Harry of the disposition of the remainders of the resistance that he knew of. The shattered remnants of the Order had fallen back to the Burrow originally. Those who had survived the Fall of Hogwarts. They'd spent the majority of their time since on recruiting. While they were all Priority One Undesirables, and liable to be Cursed on sight, there were plenty of others that might still be sympathetic to their cause who weren't. Parents of students, or old students who hadn't fought in the Battle. Their network was growing, he said. He passed on some contacts he thought were loyal. Harry added a dusting of blue lights to his map.

Harry in turn told of their quest to get Hermione back. There must have been some hint of the desperation in his words, as Mr Weasley's gaze softened sympathetically. He had no information to give, other than that hearsay put her as alive and captive. Whether that was rumour to draw Harry out into the open or honest truth, however, nobody could say.

It was as their discussions were wrapping up, that Mr Weasley said something that truly pulled the rug from under Harry's feet.

'So, Harry, what do you want us to do?'

Harry just looked at him blankly. Mr Weasley was asking _him?_ Ginny squeezed his hand beneath the table. Of course he was. And Harry couldn't let him see how it weighed upon him to accept that responsibility.

How far from this room would his words travel? The network that the Order had been building spanned most of the country. Whispered in taprooms and traded in secret alleys, his commands now would echo throughout Britain with a gravity and power unrivalled by any save Voldemort himself. The burden of it was enough to paralyse him with its weight. And yet, at the same time it offered freedom from a different paralysis. The freedom to _act_ , to bring this war back to Voldemort.

'I want to hurt him,' Harry growled, his voice charged and bristling. 'Find out where he is weak. Logistics, supplies, people, places. The things most valuable to him and his rule. Find out where he bleeds, so that we can cut him. And get yourselves ready, because we're about to take the fight back to him.'

Mr Weasley nodded gravely. There were some murmurs of assent from around the room. Neville slapped the table in support. Susan nodded once.

It had begun, in truth.

'Alright then, lads and lasses,' Ernie said, clapping his hands together. 'What's say we retire upstairs for a little nip of brandy and a further chat? I daresay Harry and Ginny have got rather a bit of… talking to do.'

'I think I'm quite comfortable here, actually,' Ron told the room at large.

Hannah Abbott, a good foot shorter, and about half of Ron's weight, grabbed him by the ear and dragged him, squealing, from the room. When the last of their footsteps had faded up the top of the stairs, Ginny turned to Harry and smiled a knowing smile.

* * *

Sometime later found Harry leaning over the map table yet again, idly studying the rugged shoreline of Britain's north coast. His shirt lay across the back of a chair. A gentle breeze stirred the hairs on his bared arms. From the back of the room, hidden in shadows, Ginny gave a contented moan, and stirred on the couch on which she slept.

'How long?' she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes.

'About an hour,' Harry answered. 'You snore.'

'Do not,' she laughed. But her tone said she knew the lie for what it was. 'You been studying that map the whole time?'

'There's a lot to think about.'

'And what mysteries have you uncovered, in this past hour of staring, O great leader?'

'Well. Reckon I could just about draw you a map of Britain blindfolded.'

'Oh, how the Dark Lord shall cower before your command of Geography.'

They shared a laugh. A genuine one. Ginny sat up, and gestured to the spot beside her on the couch. She had a moth-eaten, mouldy blanket wrapped around her torso, and was still squinting slightly from her sleep. Her hair was a tangled mess from the nap on the couch and from what had come before. But by Merlin, if she wasn't the most beautiful thing Harry had seen in months.

He took the seat next to her. She turned to face him, readjusting the blanket and taking one of his hands in both of her own.

'Come back with us,' she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Harry squeezed his own eyes shut. _Ginny, please don't do this to me. To Us._

'You know I can't,' he whispered back.

'They'd understand. You can do more with the Order than you can holed away here, isolated from everything. From every _one._ '

 _From me,_ her words all but said.

And she was right, in part. They _would_ understand. There had been a stiffness to the way Neville and Ernie had acted around Mr Weasley. It struck Harry that they were probably up there, expecting him to even now be talked in to returning to the Burrow.

'It's not just that I can't, Ginny. I _won't_. These guys… they risked their lives in the days after the war to save Ron and I. They gave up so much for us. And not all of them made it.'

Susan's words rang in his ears. _We haven't lost a one since you've been here._ He owed them this, at the very least.

'Don't they have homes they could go to? Family? They shouldn't be your responsibility, Harry. You're just a bunch of kids, trying to fight an adult's war.'

'Do you not think there's anywhere else we'd rather be? Do you not think that we'd all of us much rather be with family – those who have any left – than stuck out here, starving, scared and alone? We're the orphans of this war, Ginny. Everyone here made sure of that the moment they picked up wands with me against Voldemort. Perhaps if they stay here – hidden and for all their parents know, maybe dead – then those parents can move on. Can find a place in this new world. Or keep fighting, either way. But we're all of us a curse now. A plague. To be seen with us is death. That's not something we're willing to put on to the ones that we love.'

His chest was heaving. He'd tried to keep the heat out of his words, but failed less than one sentence in. There was hurt in Ginny's eyes. At him or for him, he couldn't tell. But she didn't let go of his hand, only held it all the tighter.

'I'd be here, you know… If I could.'

'We both know Molly would sooner let you marry Voldemort than leave her sight.'

Ginny smiled up at him tentatively, through a curtain of mussed hair. 'True. It drives her mad that Ron's here, she won't go anywhere without the damned family clock. She understands, though. She just doesn't want to lose another.'

'I'll get him home safe Ginny, I promise.'

She was tracing circles on the back of his hand with one of her thumbs. Her eyes were watering. They had been throughout the whole conversation. 'It's not his big empty head I'm worried about. It's yours.'

'Right. Well then, I'll see what I can manage.'

'I'll wait for you, you know. When all this is over.'

'Ginny don't-' Harry started.

'I don't care if, you know… while you're here,' she said without meeting his eye. 'But when it's all finished... When you've killed him, you'll know where to find me.'

She stood then, finally releasing his hand. She shrugged off the blanket and pulled her t-shirt back over her head. Left Harry sitting alone on the couch as she strode from the room, pointedly not looking back.

It took a lot from Harry to wave them both off, later that evening. He shook Mr Weasley's hand, accepted his promise to begin the work they'd discussed. The hug with Ginny was short and stilted and felt awkward. As he watched them walk outside the wards and Disapparate, Harry wondered if it wasn't the second time he was abandoning someone whom he cared about too deeply to lose.


	6. Chapter 6

_They'd been wrong-footed from the start. Their every action shot through with desperation. Their movements discordant and frantic. Like the death throes of a dying organism, the defenders of Hogwarts Castle whisked this way and that. Aimlessly. At random. In answer to the greatest need. Rushing to throw more bodies to stop the gap and halt the black-robed flood._

 _Harry screamed, his back arcing in pain. His wand clattered to the floor through useless fingers. Visions of Voldemort coursed through his mind like poison pumping through veins. He saw Tonks and Lupin cut down, as if he had cast the Curse himself. Soon after, the students who had followed to defend went with them to the grave as well._

 _An entire wall of the castle crumbled, as if kicked by a petulant toddler. Though neither he nor Voldemort stood witness, Harry felt the loss of life as a physical thing. As if the people had been a part of himself. It made the pain in his chest match that searing hot and bright and triumphant beneath his scar._

 _Hands shook him. A face filled his vision. Wide, blue eyes. Silver-blonde hair. The scent of mint and rosemary and earthy things. A trickle of water slid down his throat, and the visions receded._

' _Thanks, Luna,' he stammered, wiping spittle from his lips. He'd been screaming again. 'Where would I be without you?'_

' _Ooh, a guessing game,' she chirped. Her brow crinkled. 'Though I don't really know. Probably dead.'_

* * *

It was a sun-drenched evening that saw Harry, Ron, Neville and Ernie sitting around one of the few remaining coffee tables left in the mansion, high up in one of the grandest bedrooms with a view overlooking the grounds. The light was beginning to take on a tired, brassy hue that signalled the beginning of the end of the day. The air that sighed in through the open bay window was gentle and mild, tracing loving fingers across cheeks and through hair. The grass upon the hillsides had taken on the faintest of brown tinges, and a few leaves were beginning to turn, signalling the beginning of autumn.

A melodious tone drifted up to them from somewhere out in the grounds. Soft and lilting. As much carried up by the breeze as it was forcing its way across it. The words were indistinguishable, but the rhythm was warm and encouraging. Luna had taken to traversing the old orchards like a sunset wraith in attempts to sing some life back into the trees.

They'd picked their first apple not three days past, which had stopped all the sceptical whispering behind her back.

The music was enough to allow Harry Potter to close his eyes for a moment, and let some of his worries shed away. Not all, not by a long way. But a few of the least pressing. He laced his fingers across his stomach. He didn't smile, but his sigh was one of near contentment.

'Y'know, I might just miss this, if yon trees ever do come back to life,' Ron admitted. The clink of ice cubes swirling in his glass announced his taking a sip of the drink. Ernie had come across a stash of Firewhiskey in a Burrower's den some weeks back. He'd finally been bullied into sharing.

'Would it be a terribly bad sport to dash out and pick the fruit at night, so that she keeps up the singing?' Ernie asked with the hint of a smile. He leaned forward to top up his glass, offering the bottle to the others. Harry declined. He alone had yet to take a sip.

'It's just beautiful, isn't it,' Neville sighed. His eyes were fixed out the window, upon the shimmering sheen of silver-blonde hair that became visible every now and again between the branches of twisted grey wood.

'Hold on to your Hippogriffs, Godric,' Ron laughed. 'Unless you're going to get down there and dance for us, too?'

They all laughed at that. Even Harry smiled. They should be doing this at Hogwarts, this very moment. That's where they'd be, had they not had their world torn asunder. The Gryffindor Tower, or a sloping bank by the Lake. Trading jokes and sharing laughter that didn't feel tense and forced, ending too soon and too quietly.

Footsteps up the stairs. Dean Thomas, fresh from his latest outing in search of the elusive Fallen. His eyes widened at the scene, but Harry gestured him to sit.

'Nothing new to report,' he confessed, accepting the drink Ernie handed him. 'That body that showed up outside Hogsmeade – the one with the green armband – is long gone now. Could have just been hearsay.' He gave an apologetic grimace, which turned to an appreciative nod as he sipped the Firewhiskey. It appeared Ernie had bene holding out on the good stuff.

'Still think we should focus on this place up north first,' Ron said. ' _Then_ worry about making deals with traitors after that.'

'Maybe,' Harry finally spoke up. Dean's protestations died instantly. 'But enough war talk. Just for one evening.'

 _Let's just be kids,_ he didn't say. Because the truth was, they couldn't afford to just be kids. Not now, perhaps not ever again. He didn't know if that thought left him sad and nostalgic for what he'd lost, or it was just something that was, and so he accepted it and moved on.

'Hear, hear,' Neville chorused, one eye still out the window. 'And besides, we're celebrating tonight.'

Harry rolled his eyes, but didn't speak up when Dean asked, 'What for?'

'News,' Ron grinned, waving a coded sheet of parchment under Dean's nose.

When Ron became more engrossed in tugging the cork out of the next bottle of Firewhiskey with his teeth than elaborating on the statement, Harry spoke up. 'We've received reports from Mr Weasley and the Order. He's indicated there are a few more groups still loyal to the Resistance than we had guessed.'

 _Than we could have ever hoped for._

'How many?' Dean asked, a spark kindling in his deep brown eyes.

'Seven groups like us.'

It was seven more groups than Harry had been counting on, not a few weeks back.

'That gives us what, a hundred, hundred-twenty fighters?' Dean asked.

'Mm, about that. It certainly gives us options.'

'More than options!' Ernie roared. 'It gives us _hope_!'

A cheer went up around the group. They drowned out Luna's singing for a moment.

'Dad's also given us a list of targets,' Ron finally continued, plucking shreds of cork out from between his teeth. 'He says Hogwarts is still only half-rebuilt. Reckons-'

'Ooh, what if we held up the Hogwarts Express?' Dean asked eagerly, holding his fingers out, muggle gun style.

'Merlin, no,' Ernie grinned. 'I've enough babies to look after around this place without a hundred first-years and ankle biters running about.'

'Oh,' said Dean, shoulder slumping. 'Right. Guess I've always just wanted to hold up a train. Like in a Western Movie.'

'A _what?_ ' chorused Neville, Ron and Ernie – the three who'd grown up in magical homes.

'A Western. You know, like with cowboys and guns and-'

'Who _the fuck_ is that?' Neville started, leaping to his feet and upending the table.

Harry following his pointed finger out, past the orchards and across the grounds. And his heart stood still within his chest. Cresting the low ridge, the sun at its back like a shining promise of blood, was a figure robed entirely in black. They could barely make it out from the distance, but deep within his hood glinted the menacing silver-clad visage of a Death Eater.

'Where are our sentries?' Harry barked.

'Sentries?' Neville asked, confused. 'We don't have any, the wards-'

' _Fuck!'_

'He's inside the wards,' Ernie hissed. They kept their voices low now, as if the Death Eater could hear them across the distance. 'They've held, else he'd have an army at his back. He can't know we're here.'

There was a moment where a collective knot loosened in all of their shoulders. In the silence, a gentle, lilting tune drifted up through the window towards them.

'Get Luna out of there. Now!'

Harry gazed out to where she stood, caressing the bole of a peach tree with nary a leaf in sight. Her back was to the figure that slowly made his way down the hill towards her. Only a few hundred metres and some bent, scrubby trees separated them.

'He won't notice her,' Ernie insisted. 'Within the wards-'

'Now!' Harry roared. There was no more argument.

Ernie and Ron bolted down the stairs. Neville hung back only a moment to say, 'Dean, whatever happens, protect Harry.' Then he, too was gone, the frantic hammering of his footsteps upon the staircase mingling with the others', sounding their own kind of alarm throughout the house.

Harry rushed to the window. He had to peer to see the black-clad figure now. He'd come among the remains of the trees that lined the path to the front door. His face tilted up and Harry got a look at his masked features. Haunting, mocking with that emotionless gaze. As if everything he did was effortless. Even killing.

Luna still hadn't seen, and Harry could still here the boys on the stairs inside. He willed her silent. Urged them onwards. He'd have followed, if he hadn't thought it would simply cause more time-wasting argument.

'How could they know?' Harry asked, not expecting an answer. 'Why here? Why now?'

Beside him, Dean shielded his gaze from the setting sun, squinting down at the shadowy figure. He held his wand ready, as if there were some enemy to defeat, way up here in their tower.

'While I was out searching for these Fallen, I heard some things. Burrowers speaking of a dead zone around this place. They're scared to come here. Might be You-know-who somehow caught wind of it.'

'Might be. Neville says they've been combing the countryside all over. Might also be luck. Just not the good kind.'

'The wards are safe, right?' Dean asked beside him. 'I mean, you can't just _break_ a Fidelius Charm…'

'Mmm.' He was trying to convince himself. They both were. A sickening sense of dread was beginning to unfurl within Harry's stomach. His palms were slicked with cold sweat where they held the windowsill in a death grip.

The Death Eater had drawn level with Luna now. He must have trod on a stick, or made some other sound. Luna's ethereal singing cut off abruptly, and she turned slowly around.

The boys burst from the doors of the mansion, yelling and shouting, but at the same time fearful of making noise, their instincts not accounting for the magic protecting them.

Harry saw Luna's body tense. She had frozen in terror. The Death Eater had stopped. Still too far out for the boys to help. He studied the building. And with a chill that gripped him from the spine, Harry felt as if their eyes were locking across the distance. He lifted his wand arm in a slow, meandering way. Luna had taken a few steps back, onto the path and towards the mansion. She was nearly face to face with the Death Eater.

 _Turn!_ Harry willed her. _Run!_

The orange jet of light that sprung from his wand tracked towards the mansion in an almost perfect arc. It looked like the simplest of Muggle fireworks Harry had ever seen. It burned bright at the tip, and moved slowly, leaving a purple afterimage seared into his eyes.

Harry tracked it upwards. In his periphery the boys sprinted on beneath it, forgoing stealth now, a desperate timbre in their calls.

He watched it fall gracefully downwards again, towards the front door. Followed it all the way until the little burst of orange alighted upon the lintel.

And then his world was cleaved in two.

Pain like he had never known, even in death, gripped him from the core. It was as if his sole were being torn asunder. His knees buckled. The pain tore the scream from his throat so that even to breathe was agony. The world before him darkened. The sky above seemed to shatter, great shards of blue and gold tumbling to the earth. He wanted it out. More than he'd ever wanted anything before. More, even, than he wanted to go on living. But the pain was a part of him, it _was_ him, coming from a place deep within, poisoning his veins, tearing apart his senses.

More visions that couldn't be real. Sounds – a shout of alarm. Purple light, and a silver-haired figure crumpling to the ground. No. _No!_ That felt wrong, somehow. Like it shouldn't happen. It _can't_ happen. He felt his fingers slacken. His wand tumbled from his grip. A hand held his arm, was shaking him violently, desperately. He heard his name, but couldn't focus on it through the pain.

Bright lights filled his vision. And strange sounds. Grunts and curses. More lights. And then there was only blackness.


	7. Chapter 7

' _Isn't there something you're supposed to be doing right now?'_

 _Luna's words had echoed in the vast chasm of Harry's thoughts. Stirring life through a spark in the darkness. She'd joined them – he and Ron – as they tracked down the Grey Lady, and now as they stood, chests heaving, staring at the door to the Room of Requirement._

 _A great roar bellowed upwards from the grounds far below. 'Giants,' Ron groaned, peering out the window._

 _On a balcony beneath them, a row of students rained spells down onto Voldemort's followers. One of them wore a bright blue dress, and cut a figure that Harry could still recognise, even through the distance and the haze of battle. Cho._

 _The scream that was ripped from his throat was a pained, animal thing as he saw one of the giants swat at the students on the balcony carelessly, with no more effort than one would wave away a buzzing fly._

 _The wood splintered in a silent crash that didn't quite reach them. And Harry watched, ice gripping his chest, as a blue-clad figure cartwheeled off into the darkness. Flying through the air until her figure was lost among the shadows of the rocky outcrops that hugged the base of the castle._

 _It felt wrong. All of it. Like somewhere, back at the start, it had all become so disjointed and out of place. Almost as if he'd separated from reality, and was walking through some kind of a dream. No, not a dream, a waking, wailing nightmare, in which he was trapped._

 _He turned, about to address Hermione, before recalling that it was instead Luna who was with them. Why did that feel wrong, too?_

 _As the new trio entered the Room of Requirement together, Harry's mind was distracted, racing with ways to try and make things right once more._

* * *

Hands shook him roughly. Noise. A voice shouted what might have been his own name, from the far end of a long tunnel. Dark features crowded his vision. Though he could not yet place them through the haze, the terror in those eyes was sharp and crisp and bright.

Dean?

 _Luna._

Harry staggered to his feet. His vision was greyed and cloudy. Out on the grounds, three figures danced with one. Shouts and frantic footfalls were closer at hand, panicked rallying within the house. Closer still, Dean urged Harry to stay put. The ringing in his ears drowned the content of his words, but the tone was evident.

The ache within his chest had receded to a rhythmic pulse, an unwanted heartbeat. He felt it ensnaring him. Restricting his breaths. He wanted it out – _needed_ it out. It was as if a sickness had taken hold, and gripped him tightly with wicked talons.

Daylight burned his eyes. Grass beneath his feet, now. He stumbled, but did not fall. His head was light and dizzy. The ground seemed to move drunkenly beneath his uncertain feet. But still, he pushed onwards. Grunts and yells and curses could be heard now. Someone called his name, from so very far away. But he paid them no heed.

Luna. _Luna._ _Luna!_ It was the mantra that drove him onwards. The wand in his hand was the only point of solidarity in his shifting, shaking world. He stopped to retch, clutching desperately at his breast as the pain welled up and threatened to drag him back once more to its murky, unconscious depths.

Figures slowly coalesced before him. Indistinct yells formed words, spells. Jets of light whizzed past. But all was covered in a smoky grey haze, as if they existed in some unreal beyond-life. A place so evil and twisted that something so dire could happen to a soul so pure as Luna's. Harry hated it. He needed it gone.

His hand jerked upwards, more instinct than deliberate movement. It flattened one of his own, just as a jet of green light whizzed over their head. When he raised his wand, the sound that tore free from his throat was no spell known to man. It was little more than an animal yell, seething with hatred and vengeance. It was riven through with his unassailable desire to be _free_ of this sickness, to force it _out._ The wave of coruscating silverlight that burst forth pummelled through the Death Eater's flimsy shield and enveloped him whole. By the time any had regained their vision, two more figures decorated the dust and leaves of the overgrown path that led to the mansion.

* * *

It was to the persistent sound of steady rain that Harry finally awoke, atop a rickety, makeshift cot, inside their equally rickety, makeshift Hospital Wing. A collection of pans were gathering water from a series of leaks in one corner. A loose window pane was rattling like a shaken chain. He gingerly propped himself up and felt for his glasses. Beside him, a series of sheets levitated into acting as curtains, hid Luna's body from sight.

He took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to blink past the pain that was throbbing deep within his skull.

'Sit down, sit _down!'_ Hannah Abbott urged, rushing in through the door with an armload of bandages, in a rather familiar, matronly manner.

'Yes, Madam Pomfrey.' Harry offered her the ghost of a sardonic smile. And received in return a stern look that would have made the old matron proud.

'You great goose,' Hannah mumbled, stacking the bandages precariously on the bedside table. 'Besides, I'm just the overseer. It's Romilda knows the potions. Susan knows a skerrick of healing magic. Enough to keep her alive, at least.'

There was no need to ask who _her_ was. The sigh that escaped from Harry's lips left him suddenly drained and deflated. He looked down at his hands and saw them shaking.

Hannah waved a small glass of something that smelled terrible under Harry's nose, and he shied away from it instinctively.

'Plus,' she said with an evil grin, before pouncing and ruthlessly forcing his mouth open. The potion tasted every bit as bad as it smelled. 'I get the job because I'm told I have the best bedside manner.'

Harry was too busy alternating between gagging and downing glassfuls of water to reply.

Footsteps from up the corridor announced the presence of newcomers long before Ernie, Neville and Ron appeared at the door. Ernie was still dripping wet, and his muddy boots tracked a path across the swept tiled floor that made Hannah's lips purse in a most Pomfrey-like manner. Perhaps it was something about the job…

'There he is!' Ernie roared. 'The fearless leader, the Chosen One! He who sees with his wand alone!'

'What are you talking about?' Harry asked with a grimace. 'I feel like I've been hit by the Hogwarts Express.'

'Mate,' Ron explained. 'You ran out the house-'

'After suffering Merlin-only-knows what,' Ernie interjected.

' _Without your glasses,_ then saved Neville from a Killing Curse and blasted that Death Eater back to the Founders' era. Blimey…'

'Ah,' Harry eloquently stated, pushing his glasses up his nose. Well that explained a part of it. He suddenly felt like a bit of a fool.

'Everyone's talking about it,' Neville offered. 'They're amazed.'

'Tell them not to be. It was stupid. And anyone else would have done the same.'

'I dunno about that, mate,' Ron breathed. Still in awe himself.

'It does them good, I say,' Ernie spoke up. 'To hear the odd story like this. So what if it grows a little in the retelling. Let them imagine. Let them know that _their_ leader is every bit as bold and noble and courageous as the Dark Lord is vile and cruel and twisted. Let them know you'll fight for us. It gives them hope, if nothing else.'

They locked eyes, and eventually Harry nodded, ceding the point. 'What happened after I…?'

'We stitched our unwanted visitor back together as best we could,' Ernie continued. 'And left him in the darkest, meanest corner of Knockturn Alley. Swiped his wand and anything valuable. Might be whoever finds him will think a Burrower did it. Or maybe one of the Wandless, out for revenge.'

He summoned himself a chair and proceeded to tug at his muddy boots, sending a shower of dirt and debris all around their little gathering. In the back of the room, Hannah began to roll up an issue of the _Prophet_ menacingly.

'He had no companions,' Ron continued, pausing to step clear of Ernie's growing puddle of soupy mud at their feet. 'I scouted around. Could have been a lone patrol. Word has it Death Eaters are scouting the countryside at random.'

'Dean mentioned something about the Burrowers talking. Apparently this area is some kind of blackspot for them now. Perhaps word got out.'

'Perhaps,' Ron agreed. 'If the Death Eaters can hold off killing the Burrowers long enough to hear them talk.'

Harry nodded thoughtfully. He cast a glance over at Luna's bed. Something he'd been avoiding since regaining consciousness. The curtains concealed all, but he could just imagine her slight frame laying, broken, upon the bed.

The wave of crushing guilt hadn't consumed him yet, but it would. He could sense it, lingering in his periphery, haunting the darkest corners of his mind. So that when everyone cleared away, and there was only the two of them left in this dark, cool room, the sounds of his screams and helpless sobs would join the rain in a midnight duet of darkest fashion.

At least, in her current state, Luna wouldn't be disturbed by his madness.

'The next question is what now?' Harry forced out between clenched teeth. Action, speech, planning. Anything to keep the nightmares at bay for a moment longer. His body, weak and brittle as it was, was not yet ready to bear the load of his self-flagellating despair.

'Vengeance,' Neville spoke instantly. His eyes were red and bloodshot. His voice thick and hard and focused. Of course.

'Thought now might be a good time to hit back,' Ron explained. 'Sentiments are high. Iron is hot, and all of that.'

Harry instantly didn't like it. He'd been thinking along the lines of shoring up wards, extending their perimeter, enforcing a schedule of watches so they weren't taken by surprise. A retaliation now could be seen as such. If Voldemort linked the death of one of his most devout and powerful followers to an attack on his troops, he'd suddenly become _very_ interested in this part of Britain. Harry voiced as much.

' _If_ he links it,' Neville growled, defiant.

'Think of it as building the legend,' Ernie stated. At Harry's quizzical look, he elaborated. 'The great Harry Potter, fresh from slaying one of the Dark Lord's mightiest allies – no, don't protest it, it's the story we're going with – now seeks to strike back in a show of strength. The people, _our_ people want it, Harry. Luna, she meant something different to each of us, but the loss hurts all the same.'

'We should be pulling back, making sure this doesn't happen again.' The barest hint of a defensive tone had crept into Harry's voice.

'And we will,' urged Ernie. He'd started wringing the tails of his shirt into a puddle on the floor that was making Hannah's eye twitch. 'The two aren't mutually exclusive. But if you want people to gather to your cause, they need to see it as one of action. No offense, mate, but just relying on "I'm Harry Potter" might not be good enough anymore. Not after… after Hogwarts.

'We need to show them that we are still willing to fight. The Order, the folk Arthur Weasley talked about. That's only the beginning. Or it can be, if we capitalise on it. A show of strength now is what the people need to see. To know that there's another option. That somewhere, out there, people are still fighting for justice.'

Under Harry's intense scrutiny, Ernie shrugged, as if suddenly embarrassed by his speech.

To strike out now, and risk exposing themselves, or shrink back and try to protect the ones that Harry so desperately wanted to keep safe? Carry on their timid existence, waiting for… what, some slip-up on Voldemort's part to lead them to Hermione? Or hit decisively enough to make him hurt. A hundred angles from which to approach the issue. But each of them posed the same question at its core: a question of the value of life.

Whose was worth more? Those very real few gathered at the mansion, relying on Harry for safety, or the intangible multitudes he might save by acting now and bringing this war one step closer to a resolution? And Luna's life – could he let the attack go unanswered? Could he allow himself to countenance such inaction? Vengeance after the fact would do her no good. It never did, only started the cycle anew. For every figure behind the mask of a Death Eater that he killed had a family, a lover, a son or daughter. Someone to whom the task of vengeance would fall anew. It wasn't an act, so much as it was a force of nature, like love, or happiness. It was a way of life.

'Look at this, mate,' Ron spoke up. He had seen the internal battle raging within Harry. Likely, he knew its root. That he spoke up now was as clear an indication as Neville's utterance of Vengeance to which side he stood.

Harry lifted his eyes as Ron drew back the curtain to Luna's bed. Harry forced himself to look, despite the wave of grief that washed over him.

She lay as if in sleep. Her eyes were closed. Her chest rose and fell ever so slightly. Her long silver-blonde hair fanned about her like a shimmering halo. Peaceful, but for the spidery web of sickly black that criss-crossed every inch of her exposed skin. Her fingers, her neck, even her eyelids. Everywhere a vein lay, her lifeblood was afflicted with a sickly blackness that made Harry's insides squirm to look upon.

'It's some kind of blood curse,' Hannah spoke up. 'Dark magic, Susan says. A Malediction that is slowly, but surely killing her. She won't wake, not until it's cured.'

Harry looked at her, and felt a physical ache within his chest that had nothing to do with the past days affairs.

'Alright,' he growled. 'We do it.'

'I'm glad you've come around!' Susan Bones called, choosing that moment to stride purposefully into the room. Romilda followed close behind. Both were dressed in loose black silks, with cowls hanging free and unbuttoned at their necks. She stopped to swat Ernie over the back of the head for the mess he'd made of the room, earning her a grateful smile from Hannah. 'Because we're going too.'

'Are you, now?' Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. He pushed himself more upright in his cot and fixed the pair with his best stern gaze. Susan at least had the decency to look abashed. He wondered just how long she had been lurking out in the corridor, listening to their conversation.

'We are,' she told him, thrusting out her chin in defiance. 'We need supplies to care for Luna. Ingredients for potions that we don't have, and we can't get from foraging.'

'Would we not be better to Apparate Luna to safety?' Ernie asked. 'If we can't care for her here…'

'She's so weak, that trying to Apparate her now would risk killing her,' Romilda ventured. 'And I daren't risk giving her up to St Mungo's. We're all of us marked as public enemies, now. It's likely a death sentence in itself.'

'I agree,' Harry spoke. 'Voldemort had his hands on her once. I'll not give him the chance to do it again. She stays.'

'Then we leave tonight,' Susan said.

The five of them all had eyes on Harry. He could feel their attention like a physical thing. The weight of their expectant stares hung around his neck, threatening to drag his gaze downward, for to meet their own was to acquiesce to what they had planned. Slowly, painfully he nodded. And then grimaced as the realisation of what he had done hit home. Wagering lives to build a story. By Merlin, he hoped it was worth it.

They gathered in the Entrance Hall before departure. Ron, Ernie and Neville were headed to the place the Snatcher had identified. Looking for more leads on Hermione. Dean Thomas, Rodger Davies and Terry Boot went with them. Their time of sneaking and moving in small numbers was behind them. Susan and Romilda took Penelope Clearwater with them to St Mungo's. She'd done some minor work there before returning to fight in the Battle. She knew the storerooms and back entrances. Some of the only places in the country that the ingredients they needed were kept.

Harry shook the hands of the boys, gave brief hugs to the girls, and watched with a sickness in his heart as they all Disapparated together, tearing the evening in two, even through the sound of the rain.

Only a few now remained in the Mansion. Harry nodded to Hannah, lay a comforting hand on the shoulder of little Dennis Creevey. Even Lavender had dragged herself out of her usual haunts to witness the departure.

Those who remained were bonded for the moment, in their shared anxiety. None would sleep nor eat until the others returned. They moved to the Hospital Wing to stand vigil next to Luna together.

* * *

The storm that had assailed their mansion was but a shadow of the one that raged far in the north of the country. Wild winds battered the landscape. Driving rain hammered the earth with oppressive force. As Ron and the group Apparated into it, he let out a curse. But even that was torn from his lips, as a spell shot by mere inches from his head. And then there was no time for speech at all, as suddenly, their night came alive in a blaze of spellfire.

The enemy had been waiting.


End file.
